Call of Duty: Ascending Haze
by Lethal Nizzle
Summary: The grandson of PFC Salvatore Guzzo has found himself in his grandfather's shoes; involved in war. Watch as Salvatore the Second tries to survive the small skirmishes that make up the US side of the story of the Call of Duty 4 campaign.


**DISCLAIMER: **I want to thank Infinity Ward for making an awesome game and creating so many memorable scenes. I do not own the rights to the Call of Duty series and Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare. Those rights belong to Activision.

However, all OCs belong to me. Any characters which seem to resemble a real-life counterpart are purely coincidental. Thank you.

**I : BLOOD ON THE SAND**

(CHARLIE DON'T SURF)

The UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter I was on cut through the sickly desert air like a knife through hot butter, it's jet black body standing out against the pale blue canvas that was the sky. We were inside one of many Black Hawks spearheading the assault against Khaled Al-Asad. The briefing back at Fort Branson had revealed that Al-Asad was suspected to be hiding in the Arabian town we were about to invade.

Now just months before I was a young man fresh out of high school with my whole life ahead of me. I had graduated with enough qualifications to get a good job in the city. Hell, I could've started up my own business if I put my mind to it. But I didn't. I joined the United States Marine Corps, much to my mother's dismay. My father wasn't too keen, but knew that it was for the best.

His father was in the Army, saw action in the second World War. I remember my father showing me photos when I was a little younger. My grandfather had taken them throughout his campaign in the Normandy Breakout. The pictures were obviously black and white, but I could see everyone who was in the picture's face clearly. The first photo I saw was of a large church, half of it crumbling. Around it was a graveyard, with Americans and German populating it. Before my grandfather lay several bodies, all American and every single one mutilated.

At the bottom of the photo was a small message handwritten by presumably my grandfather. I read, "The Bloodiest Battle of the War; Saint-Lô".This gave me a real insight to what life was like back then, and I wanted to know more about him. I later found it that he was promoted to squad leader and that he had the same name as me. Salvatore Guzzo.

Snapping back into the present, I finished reminiscing to focus on the coastal town that slowly came into view. Through my grey-tinted goggles I could see several building built the same way, with the same bricks and architecture. My eyes were dragged from the seemingly tranquil scene before me when a rocket zoomed out from one of the houses, hurtling past the Black Hawk next to us. Immediately, the hold of my chopper was filled with the sounds of reloading, Hail Marys and standard Marine banter.

"I betcha five bucks I'mma nail the first Arab when we touch the ground!" Private First Class Dominic Erneston cried out over the constant spinning of the rotor blades. He had been with me ever since we enlisted. This didn't mean I liked the guy. To me, he was an overconfident New Yorker with a trigger happy finger. I knew that one day his exuberant personality was going to get himself hurt.

Next to him sat another Private; Lionel Rita. When he wasn't getting teased about his surname, or his bespectacled appearance, he was our squad's heavy gunner, manning the M60. He might've been the epitome of a skinny geek, he was a toughened guy with deadly aim. Rita was sitting quietly with his M4A1 Carbine resting between his legs, and his M60 strapped around his back. He was cleaning the barrel out with a small cloth for what seemed the umpteenth time since we took off from Fort Branson.

Erneston and Rita were the only men in my squad that I had enlisted with. We had been thrown together after basic with other guys from other squads to make a rather mismatched squad. From my right sat Private First Classes Edward Yo, Rita and Erneston, Corporal Curtis Redmond and Staff-Sergeant Ronald Hughes. To my left sat Corporal Thomas Bangleton and Captain Jerome Johnson. I was sitting with my legs hanging over the edge as the the full form of the town was unfolded before me.

Buildings had scorch marks embedded in them and gaping holes from RPGs cut into the structures. Suddenly a chorus of RPG rockets and machine gun fire began to stab at the air cavalry. Ice hot bullets pinged off the metallic hull of the Black Hawk, one narrowly missing my head. I watched as the chopper next to us caught a full round of machine gun fire and slowly began to smoke from the tail rotor.

"Holy shit man. They're going down hard." PFC Blair exclaimed, wiping the gathering sweat off his brow. His once light brown complexion was now almost white. I glanced back outside to see the Black Hawk begin to spin out, reminiscent to the film portrayal of the Battle of Mogadishu years ago. The rope had been dropped and a few brave soldiers had began to rappel down, only to either fall off or get shot down.

Our chopper began to descend to the rally point, marked by a billowing croud of green smoke. One chopper which I recognized as Lieutenant Vasquez's had already dropped its cargo off and was already flying back to base. But that was how the Force Recon worked; get in, get it done and get out. The standard Marines had always admired how the worked.

The pilot of our chopper eased the bird into a tight one-eighty degree turn, attracting more ground fire to rear up and bite. A tap on my shoulder from Captain Johnson told me to drop the rappel. It looked like I was the first to hit the ground.

"Naw shit. Guzzo's gonna get the first kill!" Erneston moaned. He threw his coiled rope back into the hold and prepared to rappel down mine.

"Are you kidding Dom? Poor Guzzo couldn't hit that tree." Bangleton pointed to a large palm tree that was literally a few metres from my face. I shook the remarks with a smile and threw the worn rope down.

We were at least fourty feet above the ground, and I didn't have the mental strength to deal with heights. I didn't know we would be rappelling into battle. It should've stated in the recruitment process. I smiled to myself at the thought and rolled up my sleeves before grabbing hold of the rope and leaping off. Even with gloves on the rope cut into the leather and into my hand. I could feel my hands burning as I slid down the fourty foot drop, the town in front of me appearing as a blur. I heard the Captain yelling for the rest of the crew to go down, so I quickly moved forward.

Dropping to one knee I panned my SOPMOD rifle along my field of vision. The scope on top of the gun gave a red tint to my vision and gave me a lighter red reticule. The "safe zone" was a small patch of sand and rubble, and before it sat the town that Al-Asad was in. I was itching to get into fight, hearing the crack of gunshot in the tight labyrinth that was the town only made me lust more to fire this weapon. But my orders were to secure the LZ until everyone had touched down. I heared the sound of leather hitting the ground behind me as the the first half of my team moved up.

The first fire team consisted of S-Sgt. Hughes, Cpl. Redmond, Pvt. Rita and Erneston. The assumed the name "Alpha Team" and ours was "Bravo Team", simple NATO phonetic letters. My fire team consisted of everyone else; the Captain, Bangleton, me and Private Yo. Hughes' team moved forward from the LZ as our chopper lifted off. The sandy patch of land faded into battered tarmac as the sounds of battle grew ever louder.

"Bravo, on me." Hughes barked as he began to run for the street. We were not far behind as we turned a corner and into an L-shaped street. I guessed the street was one a cul-de-sac, but building rubble and a few burning vehicles cut half of it off. I looked to my left and saw Alpha team disappear into another street. If we were going to get this mission done we needed to stay together, as Johnson then reminded them.

"Alpha team, hold your position." Johnson said into his communicator. A brief duration of static followed by an "affirmative" confirmed that Hughes and co. were holding.

As we slowly made our way up the same street Alpha had just traversed a glimmer of light to my left caused me to spin ninety degrees anti-clockwise. A shot from a Kalishnikov, or an AK-47 landed next to my left foot, spraying sand across my booted feet. Johnson's head snapped back immediately as the shot fired. As he did, the COM channel crackled to life with the sound of gunfire. It seemed like Alpha was going to town.

It seemed like to gunman wanted to toy with us and only shot one bullet. He was clumsy however as he revealed his position too easily, leaving the light on in the room he was in.

"Guzzo where did that shot come from?" Johnson asked, flicking off the safety of his rifle.

"From that apartment building here sir. Top floor, second from left room along."

"Alright, fire a grenade in there. 'See what we find."

I nodded and flicked a small switch underneath the main weapon, initiating my M203 grenade launcher attached underneath. Standing back from the corrugated iron fence in front of the apartment Iooked down the sights. I didn't pause, I didn't stop. I did just as my training told me to do and fired. A small scream came from the room accompanied with the sound of the AK hitting the ground and letting off a few shots on its own.

"Five bucks goes to you Guzzo. That is, unless Dom hasn't killed yet." Johnson nodded at me before beginning to walk again. I switched back to my normal rifle setting and followed suite. Shortly after my first encounter of a live enemy, and my first kill, we arrived at a junction and came under heavy fire. We saw up ahead a mounted machine gun on one of the balconies and ground troops moving up.

Alpha was pinned behind a pair of concrete roadblocks which were disintegrating rapidly. We moved up straight away, with me and Yo staying back to cover Johnson and Bangleton as they joined Hughes' squad. After firing a few pot shots, we moved up and dug in alongside Alpha.

"SITREP Staff Sergeant!" Johnson yelled as he poked his carbine over the low wall, returning fire.

"Lieutenant Vasquez and his Force Recon team have breached a small building north-west from our current position. They're checking it out for Al-Asad."

"I seriously doubt a warlord would hide in that place." Erneston retorted.

"Shut up Private!" Johnson yelled at Erneston who instantly pursed his lips shut and began firing back as Johnson had done. "What's the situation here?"

"We have a light machine gun set up on the balcony of the building opposite us." A clip of rapid fire bit into the roadblack, confirming Hughes' report. "And around twenty ground troops positioned on this street and in a small outcrop to the east of our position. It's a small network of corrugated metal frames with around about ten soldiers in."

Suddenly M4 fire came from in front and the machine gun briefly stopped. I looked over the roadblack, risking my head being shot off, to find Vasquez's team moving across the street and towards the metal frames. Then the recognition that the machine gunner was reloading struck both fire teams and seconds later we vaulted over the top of the wall and straight towards it. Instead of sticking to their respective squads, a few soldiers followed the wrong fire teams up the street.

I slammed my back against another wall as Rita went prone, set up his M60 behind a burnt out forklift, and began to supress the enemy. A spray of red mist exploded from the balaclavad machine gunner who fell forward and off the balcony, snapping his neck as he hit the ground. When my eyes left the gory scene, I held a thumbs up when Rita looked over to me. He nodded back with a grin and began to move forward once more as the distant cry from Johnson propelled us forward.

Me and Rita moved forward, with Private Yo following up not far behind. We were moving fast and low when a sharp crack shot through the air. Instantly I felt a sense of warmth on my bare arms. I looked down to see my once tanned arm smothered in blood. I then glanced back to see Yo falling in seemingly slow motion, arms above his head and his rifle flying away from him.

"Ah shit! Yo!" I yelled at Rita, who abruptly stopped and turned back, watching as Yo moved ever so slightly on the sand. "Rita, let's get him to the Captain!"

But Rita didn't move, his eyes transfixed on the slowly dying man in front of him. It was a stupid thing to do since a suspected sniper was in the area. Another shot from the invisible assailant seemed to snap Rita back to reality and he nodded at me, his face still stone-like. I grabbed Yo's right shirt sleeve and Rita grabbed the other.

"On three. One.. two.. three!" We both lifted Yo in unison, and was welcomed by a painful scream by Yo. As we began to drag him towards the metal structure Vasquez's squad had approached I could feel Yo's blood slowly dripping off my hand and onto the sandy cobbles. Right there I wanted to stop and puke. Just the thought of someone else's blood splattered on your skin sent an unseeable force through me and grabbed me by the guts.

The sniper only shot one more time after that. I guessed that he was either reloading or didn't want to risk his position being discovered. We managed to drag Yo to the two fire teams, who had successfully cleared out all Opfor in the area. When Yo was getting medical attention I slumped on the wall nearest to me and started to calm myself down. But it was no use, the unit was moving out just seconds after we had dragged Yo what seemed like hundreds of yards. Then my system took over and a wave of vomit cascaded onto my combat dress. Bangleton had heard me discharging vomit and marched over to me.

"Get the fuck up Guzzo! You're not getting out of this that easily!"

I always felt that Corporal Bangleton had held a grudge against me. He never seemed to say anything at least pleasurable to me and always found something that I had done wrong, and picked at it like a vulture. I hated the guy, and vice versa.

"Sir, it's from a Staff Sergeant Griggs!" Erneston yelled across the small courtyard. He was holding out a small headset, identical to an MP3 player's headphones, attached to radio set that had been left behind by one of Vasquez's. Johnson jogged over from his position checking out Private Yo and snatched the headphones away from Erneston. "Damn no need to snatch!"

Johnson ignored Erneston's remark and began to listen in to what this Griggs had to say. By now I was shakily walking over to where everyone was, my helmet fixed at an angle back on my head. After a few seconds and nods, Johnson threw the headphones back to Erneston, who packed them back up into the small compartment in the radio.

"Alright men. Lieutenant Vasquez and company have had a tip off that Al-Asad is inside the TV station we were shown earlier. Scouts have confirmed Opfor rushing into the building earlier today." Johnson cleared his throat, itching at his stubble as he did. "We will rendevous with Staff Sergeant Griggs outside of the TV station. Is that clear Marines?"

"Sir yes sir!" Everyone boomed. Everyone except me of course; I managed a weak shot before spewing out bile. A few disapproving grunts came from the men around me. I felt a large hand slap my back when I straightened up. It was Bangleton. He didn't say anything and simply walked away from me, laughing.

I cursed under my breath, picked up my M4A1 SOPMOD and loaded a fresh clip into the chamber.

I then realised that Yo's blood was still embracing my arm. In a panicked frenzy I began to wash it off with my canteen. Then from across the courtyard the medic called across to Johnson.

"We've lost him sir."

From there, the mood in the squad made a hard u-turn and became instantly sullen. Exuberant smiles turned to stone cold expressions as both fire teams made their way towards the TV station.


End file.
